The Bird

Little bird outside my window, sitting in the tall swaying willow, You and the tree sway as one, you singing your lovely tune that keeps me entertained. With your stripes of brilliant blue and berry red, you are beautiful, Only if I were a bird able to fly out of this cage I have grown up in, if I were able to fly and spread my wings with freedom and be as beautiful as you. Yet he says I am beautiful and when I am in his arms is the only time I feel free. I wish I could be in him arms at all times because I believe I feel love, The word love feels forbidden on my lips, it’s as if it all seems as it’s meant to be. I truly believe he is my prince charming, but he is gone, gone to another word which I would like to join him. I pry the latch of my window open, the adrenaline pumps through my veins like the song pumped out of the little bird outside my window. I stand in the frame of my window, a quick flash of him pops in my mind, then suddenly I smell his scent, feel his arms around me, I feel safe. It’s my turn to fly; I am in his arms again.